


we arrive at agreeable musings (sentimental or just confusing)

by harperuth



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Dancing, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, mentions of dysphoria
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:15:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24929014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harperuth/pseuds/harperuth
Summary: Starscream abruptly realized several things at once. The first being that it was possible he hadn’t fully thought out faking courting with Optimus slagging Prime. The second being that he needed to interface more often if a single touch to his wing was enough to knock him this far off balance.The third being that he could see Optimus’ smile, as the mech had left his battlemask off to meet Starscream.- - -Fic for Apollo, Starscream and Optimus get some good press.
Relationships: Optimus Prime/Starscream, Starscream & Rattrap
Comments: 16
Kudos: 152





	we arrive at agreeable musings (sentimental or just confusing)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Roboapollo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roboapollo/gifts).



> thank you very much to Apollo for donating to Black Visions Collective!
> 
> title is from 'a night on the town' by the dear hunter, who are rapidly becoming my go to starscream fic titlers

“Mech, I say this in the most sparkfelt manner I possess,” Rattrap did not sound anything other than his usual mix of smarmy and gleeful, “You got an image problem.”

“Thank you, truly,” Starscream drawled, frowning down at Council layout, trying to figure out how Windblade had snuck the most recent vote to her favor, “Your sympathy knows no bounds.”

A stylus pinged one of his wings, “I thought we agreed no more insults.”

Starscream rolled his optics, “Only you would think ‘sympathetic’ is an insult.”

“Nah,” Rattrap circled the table until he was in front of Starscream, “I know plenty o’ mechs that would object ta the descriptor.”

“You sound like Swindle,” Starscream didn’t look up at him, “Have you been hanging around Maccadam’s again?”

“Some language packets may have been thrown around,” Rattrap waved a servo, neither confirming or denying anything, “Blurr likes that I don’t ogle, ya know?”

“Mm,” Starscream agreed, that was one plus side to Rattrap’s companionship. Starscream had never met a mech so resolutely _uninterested_ in other frames. It tended towards refreshing, “Did you have a reason to be bothering me?”

“It’s always whiplash with you, mech,” Rattrap exvented a noisy sigh, “Sympathetic—blech—one moment, a bother the next. I’m gonna think yer sweet on me.”

“It disturbs me that that’s not the worst thing you’ve ever said to me,” Starscream sighed as well and finally looked up at his companion, “Out with it.”

“Mutterings down below ain’t too favorable lately,” Rattrap held up a servo when Starscream opened his mouth, “Ah, more than usual, I mean. You need some good press, and fast.”

“Ugh,” Starscream pinched his nasal ridge, hissing when he misjudged his new digit modification and they poked his optics. Public relations was never something Starscream excelled in. Schemes? Yes. Fiddly bits of legislative nonsense? Certainly. Ascending to power? Sure, lately. Looking favorable while doing all of the above? Horrid.

Rattrap snickered like he’d heard Starscream’s thought process. Perhaps he had, Starscream had no idea what kind of mods Swindle was hocking these days, and Lockdown was still...misplaced. Starscream frowned further and set a long decay alert to look into that. When he had the time. ...Right.

“Got some other words that might interest ya,” Rattrap interjected his thoughts, looking particularly smug, “Could help too.”

Starscream sighed and powered down the hologram table, “Go on.”

\- - -

Starscream watched his digits as they drummed at the edge of the comm station. They seemed...closer. Still not quite right. He’d thought—

“Starscream,” Optimus picked up, “What.”

“Hello, Starscream,” Starscream quipped, “So nice to hear from you. How are you doing this fine cycle?”

“Starscream,” Optimus sighed, some almighty sound like everything disappointed him on a cosmic level, “I really don’t have the time—”

“Oh yes,” Starscream turned his servo over and curled his digits in, inspecting the manner in which they now folded into his palm, “I’d heard about that. Nasty business.”

“Did you call to comment on my state of affairs,” Optimus asked, “Or was there something else?”

“A proposition,” Starscream dragged his optics up to Optimus’s icon, the visual wavelength pulsing slightly with the errant background noise behind him, “To help you out.”

“Just me?” Optimus responded, and unlike the blossoming possibilities of Rattrap’s immediate collusion or the promised fun of Windblade’s inherent suspicion he just sounded...accepting. Perhaps his pickle was slightly more difficult than Rattrap had implied.

“That’s me,” Starscream quipped, “Ever the philanthropic.”

“I thought it was Starscream the First,” Optimus’s glossa was just as quick and Starscream ignored the hum of warmth that shot through his systems.

“It seems so rude to leave a legacy that any potential seconds or thirds have to live up to,” Starscream bit back laughter that wanted to escape, “I thought to explore some alternatives.”

Optimus didn’t contain his laughter, and the sonorous tones rolled over and through Starscream, even several million miles away via commlink. He shivered, watching the wavelength jump along. Optimus trailed into a chuckle, his tone warmer, “Hello Starscream, so nice to hear from you. Tell me about your plans this fine cycle.”

\- - -

Starscream wasn’t _nervous_.

The receiving bay was deceivingly quiet, but Starscream could sense the lurkers, even with his new frame modification bringing the sensors in his wings down from what Knock Out had charitably termed ‘over-the-top wartime hypervigilance.’ He’d given Rattrap...permission to talk about his boss’s beau finally coming back from a long-term assignment that had kept him away for too long. And any story that Rattrap knew, Swindle undoubtedly heard, and Blurr picked up.

Starscream forced himself not to pick at an irritatingly placed transformation seam near his hip. He wasn’t some _new build_ nobility seeing their chosen for the first time. He was a _veteran warbuild_ , a _ruler_ , a— 

Oh Primus, there it was.

The shuttle descended neatly into the dock in front of him, depressurizing as it entered stable atmosphere. Starscream’s digits did worm their way into his seam then as he considered the possibility of _space faring_ plating. His spark jittered uncomfortably enough that he didn’t notice the shuttle opening.

“You’ve changed your frame,” Optimus’ voice rolled over him the way it always had, whether he was Orion the enforcer, Prime the general, or just Optimus, here and now, his shiny new courtmate.

“I do that,” Starscream responded finally, dialling his vocalizer down to a soft bland. 

He was trying. Sue him.

“Hm,” Optimus stepped forward and took Starscream’s servo in his own, his free servo reaching back to _trace the edge of Starscream’s wing_. Starscream slammed his vents shut so fast he nearly choked, locking his hydraulics, and taking in the sensory data of Optimus’s digits on his most sensitive plating. Optimus kept speaking as if he hadn’t spent Starscream into a diving tailspin with both engines out, “I like it. They look far more flexible.”

He followed _that_ up with a _wink_.

Starscream stared up at him, completely mute for the first time since his vocalizer had been repaired slapshod a millennia ago. He could tell he looked a fool. There was energon pooling in his face plates, hot and rushing.

Optimus grinned, pulling his servo back and catching a light hold of Starscream’s chin, “I missed you too.”

Starscream abruptly realized several things at once. The first being that it was possible he hadn’t fully thought out faking courting with _Optimus slagging Prime_. The second being that he needed to interface more often if a single touch to his wing was enough to knock him this far off balance.

The third being that he could see Optimus’ smile, as the mech had left his battlemask off to meet Starscream.

A point further hammered home when Optimus leant down to press a kiss to Starscream’s forehelm.

Right.

\- - -

Starscream had high hopes that retreating to his hab would serve as a respite from Optimus’s hands. And optics. And lips.

He had no such luck.

“Hey Starscream,” Wheeljack looked at least a _little_ abashed, helm fins flashing a pale pink. 

Windblade had no such compunctions, “The Prime, huh?”

“Yes,” Optimus answered for him, authoritative and simple as always. Starscream felt a vicious stab of vindication as Windblade’s optics flashed in surprise. It lasted long enough for Optimus to press himself along Starscream’s back, sending his sensor net into another tailspin, “Hello Wheeljack.”

“Good to see you, Optimus,” Wheeljack said, right back to his general sedate and pleased nature. Forget Rattrap, Wheeljack was Starscream’s favorite, “How have you been?”

Optimus moved around Starscream, pressing a servo to his lower back as he went further into the hab to speak to Wheeljack. Starscream watched him move, continually thrown by how _quiet_ he was, both for his size and frame type. He shook his awareness back enough to notice Windblade at his side staring at him, her wings jacked up in some approximation of Seeker surprise.

“What?” He hissed as she grabbed his elbow and dragged him to the balcony.

“Starscream?” Optimus asked, looking after him with concern.

“Just taking him out for a chat,” Windblade replied airily, “Wing to wing.”

“They do this all the time,” Wheeljack waved a servo, drawing Optimus’ attention once more, “Don’t worry about it.”

Starscream took a moment to recalibrate his sensors as the outside air hit them, eddies and heat pockets blowing across the high balcony. Primus, but he needed it. Perhaps he would take a flight later.

“You’re unbelievable!” Windblade interrupted his moment of peace with a smack to his cockpit, “I thought this was some kind of, of media ploy! _How_ did you manage to hide this for so long?”

“Hide...what?” Starscream was still thrown off enough by the day, Optimus’ general proximity, and the invasion of his hab to process what was happening in this conversation.

“Starscream,” Windblade said slowly, “You two are utterly gone on each other. How the frag have you kept this secret?”

“I—” Starscream turned and leant against the balcony railing, looking fully at Windblade, “It was nice. Having something that was just mine, not—”

That, at least, was true. His feelings for Optimus belonged to no one but him.

Windblade, fierce and suspicious Windblade, softened, shuffling forward enough to press her wing against Starscream’s, an unspoken gesture of comfort and camaraderie. For a moment, Starscream wondered if he’d in fact been in stasis since his conversation with Rattrap, “Well, rat’s outta the bag now.”

Starscream choked on a high and unpleasant laugh. Wasn’t it just.

\- - -

“I didn’t realize that you and Wheeljack were such good friends.”

Starscream focused on not tensing his digits around the cube he was withdrawing. Optimus sounded curiously blank now that they were alone. Starscream placed the cube under the energon dispenser and curled his digits inwards, “I— Yes, I suppose.”

“I’m glad,” Optimus said, “He’s a good mech to be around.”

“He is,” Starscream switched the cubes out, watching the next steadily fill, “So long as he’s not around anything combustible.”

Optimus chuckled, “He does have a knack, hm?”

Starscream collected the cubes and made for the couch, but Optimus snagged him down into his lap. It was only centuries of reflexes and energy shortage that kept him from upending either cubes, “Optimus!”

“There’s a snapper bot outside the window,” Optimus murmured right against Starscream’s audial.

“Ah,” Starscream vented softly, and rather than work himself into a snit about privacy or call an enforcer, he handed Optimus his cube, “I’m afraid I don’t have any additives on hand. I don’t often fuel at home.”

“Of course you don’t,” Optimus smiled into his cube, face glowing warmly in the light of the energon, “Be honest, how often do you sleep in your office?”

“It’s possible,” Starscream sipped his own cube, “The cleaning drones have a protocol in place to work around me.”

Optimus laughed, that deep, sonorous sound that sunk right into Starscream’s plating and seemed to keep going to his struts. He buried his own smile in another sip of his energon. Optimus’ free servo came up to tease at the base of his wings. Starscream shivered, “Don’t start something you don’t intend to finish.”

“I’m not one to abandon things half-finished,” Optimus hummed, dispersing his empty cube and hooking his servo around Starscream’s thigh.

“I suppose not,” Starscream agreed. He swirled the last bits of energon in his cube around, pretending he was looking there rather than at Optimus’ servo; the way his palm covered the top of his thigh completely, strong, broad digits curling around to disappear underneath it. The digit’s on Optimus’ other servo tweaked a wire between his wings.

“Starscream,” Optimus murmured, “Are there any windows in your berthroom?”

“A few,” Starscream whispered back, “But I’m fairly certain we could get away with closing the curtains.”

“I can sleep on the floor,” Optimus offered.

“You’re picking up the humans vernacular,” Starscream vented, tossing his energon back and dispersing the cube. He stood, speaking louder, “I think my berth is plenty big enough for you.”

\- - -

“I would have thought the point of a newly unified Cybertron was not to have places like Dead End anymore,” A particularly biting remark from Councillor Halogen.

Starscream sighed as quietly as he could, keeping his voice even, “Dead End isn’t some kind of turborat infested bolthole. It was hit hard by the energon crisis, yes. The infrastructure is still questionable, if not lacking completely, yes. But, frankly, these were all failings of the previous Primacy. Mechs in Dead End had a tight-knit, thriving community before they were failed by their so-called rulers. It can easily be rebuilt into that again, and we owe it to them to try.”

“That sounds quite like Decepticon rhetoric,” Councillor Careen said, warning in her tone.

“Decepticons weren’t always wrong,” Optimus’ voice rang through the Council room. Every helm whipped around to look at him, Starscream included, “I’m sorry to intrude; I was under the impression that the Council had wrapped up a groon previous.”

“We were meant to,” Starscream offered as blandly as possible. Based on the glare Halogen shot back at him, he wasn’t particularly successful.

“Ah,” Optimus still had his mask disengaged, and his smile was disarming, “I was hoping to take you out to refuel.”

The Councillor's helms all swiveled back to stare at Starscream. He tried not to blush, “I’ve no objection. Halogen, I believe the record will allow us to pick this back up next cycle.”

“I—” Halogen opened his mouth, slid his optics back to Optimus, then shut it again, “Of course.”

“Consider this meeting of the Cybertronian Council adjourned then,” Starscream rapped his knuckles against the table, “Councillor Joule, I apologize for not getting to your item. We’ll slate it first thing after wrapping up Halogen’s proposal next time?”

“It’s not a problem,” Joule squeaked, optics wide and flickering quickly between Starscream and Optimus.

“How is Amp?” Starscream asked, dropping his professional tone. The question was enough to shake the rest of the Councillor’s out of their stupor and slowly begin collecting themselves.

“The youngest, as ever,” Joule smiled, optics widening at something behind Starscream. It was a testament to nights sharing a berth, however platonically, that Starscream’s sensors didn’t immediately burst to their fight or flight response at Optimus’ hovering, “Cute as a button and quiet for the entire war, but now he’s apparently hit his rebellious phase.”

“Peace changes us all,” Optimus offered. Starscream couldn’t help himself from leaning back into his warm plating.

“It does,” Starscream agreed, “But I hope he stays out of too much trouble.”

“Don’t we all,” Joule nodded, “Er, thank you for asking after him. I...should let you get to your date.”

“How kind,” Starscream smiled acerbically, ignoring Optimus’ sub-vocal laughter shaking his frame

\- - -

“You’re a menace,” Starscream smiled sweetly over the edge of his cube, “I do have to _work_ with those mechs, you know?”

Optimus’ optics glittered, “Do you?”

“They’ll be even more unbearable now,” Starscream sighed and sipped his energon, “I can already hear them selling their tell-all stories to every tabloid mech still functioning.”

“You’ve seen through my clever plan,” Optimus winked, “Clearly this was all a ploy for the ruse.”

Starscream nodded, but his processor felt distant. The ruse. Yes. Right. Why would Starscream have a gorgeous, clever, sweet mech whisking him away to refuel? 

Why would Starscream have Optimus?

He was slightly appalled with himself for _forgetting_. The last few cycles had been...utterly intoxicating. Optimus never treated him any differently when they were alone, but for less touching. It was...easy...to forget.

“Starscream?” Optimus’ tapped the servo Starscream had laying on the top of the table. His optical ridge had furrowed slightly when Starscream looked back, “You went somewhere.”

“I’m right here,” Starscream forced a smile onto his face, “Where else would I be?”

\- - -

“This is a terrible plan,” Starscream spat through gritted denta, “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”

“Hey, I didn’t plan nothin’,” Rattrap backed up a few steps, servos raised, “I merely provided the information. What you did with it was nunna my business.”

Starscream rolled his optics, “Your _business_ is your _job_ and your _job_ is _working for me_. I’d say it most certainly is your business.”

“Push yer logic circuitry a little harder there,” Rattrap drawled, “I wanna see what happens when you hit a paradox loop.”

Starscream gave into his oft repressed desire to snarl. Rattrap, rather than be intimidated, walked right up into his space, “Oh slagging Primus on a pogo stick.”

“What,” Starscream dropped his helm into his servos.

“You _like_ him,” Rattrap vented, peering through Starscream’s digits to catch his optics, “You want this ta be _real_.”

“Shut up,” Starscream snapped, “I do not.”

“Oh mech,” Rattrap shook his helm, “I can’t believe I gotta do ya _another_ favor.”

“You’ve never done me a favor in your functioning,” Starscream gave up on his servos, dropping his head down onto his desk.

“I do ya plenty’a favors,” Rattrap countered, “I just ain’t cashed any of ‘em in yet.”

Starscream considered this, “I _pay_ you.”

“The notions ain’t mutually exclusive,” Rattrap said, smug as ever.

“I’m going to fire you,” Starscream promised, his plating itching with the phantom sensation of Optimus’ servos.

“Nah,” Rattrap patted the back of his helm, “Ya ain’t.”

\- - -

Starscream was going to send Rattrap the most disgusting energon bouquet that he could possibly find.

A _favor_ apparently translated to telling Swindle to set something up. Which translated to Swindle telling Blurr he was bored and Prime was in town and they should have a party. Which _somehow_ translated to Blurr throwing a full-blown Event.

Starscream saw no less than three of his colleagues that he not-so-secretly despised. Optimus was actually polished for once. This was the worst thing that had ever happened to him.

He was including every minute of wartime.

It was _nice_ , was the thing. He was freshly painted and on the arm of the Prime, who was judicious and attentive. It was every dream Starscream had been having for more than he cared to admit.

And it was a lie.

“Dance with me?” Optimus asked, interrupting Starscream’s meager conversation with one of the assistants for Councillor Minitron.

“I—” Starscream gaped at him.

“Oh!” The assistant—Hardrock, he was fairly certain—smiled at them, something soft in her gaze, “Don’t let me keep you!”

Optimus whisked him away without another word.

“That was horribly rude,” Starscream hissed, taking care on the freshly waxed dance floor that Blurr had somehow magicked into existence in Maccadam’s. 

“One nice thing about being the Prime,” Optimus turned to face him, large servo settling just this side of improperly low on his waist and back, “No one ever tells you you’re being rude.”

“I’ve met Ratchet multiple times and I know that’s a lie,” Starscream said, reaching his own servo up to rest on Optimus’ shoulder.

Optimus threw his helm back and laughed, drawing the optic of nearly every mech in the room. Starscream kept his helm up, despite the energon he knew was staining his face. The pleasant feeling of making Optimus laugh settled somewhere in his tank next to the curdled truth of the lie he was living.

Optimus led them through a simple enough dance, his movements precise and sure. Starscream stared up at him, “Now, who taught you so well?”

“Jazz,” Optimus admitted freely, “Part of his campaign to imbue anyone who would let him with some rhythm.”

“Did you always fold so easy for your soldiers?” Starscream teased. Optimus retaliated by leading them through a tricky bit of footwork that would have been difficult for a mech half his size.

“It usually bore me good results,” Optimus grinned, and Starscream realized the move had pulled them flush together, not a nanomechanometer of space between their plating. Optimus’ optics cycled slightly, like they were dialing in even closer on Starscream’s face.

Starscream wanted nothing more in that moment than to kiss him.

He couldn’t do this.

“I have—” Starscream cycled his intake, “Private comm— Um, emergency. I have to go.”

He extricated himself from Optimus’ arms and spun on his heel, finding an exit and taking off into the night.

\- - -

Starscream didn’t move at the sound of the door opening. He blinked when Optimus brought the lights up, “Starscream? Are you alright?”

“Peachy,” Starscream winced when his vocalizer broke across the words.

“Bad emergency?” Optimus dropped to the floor in front of the couch Starscream was laying on, brushing a servo down Starscream’s backstrut.

Starscream barked a harsh laugh, burying his face deeper into the cushioning, “Please stop touching me.”

Optimus’ servo drew back so fast it clipped his wing, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t!” Starscream laughed again, “You didn’t do anything! You’ve been solicitous and attentive and sweet and everything a proper supposed courtmate is meant to be and I can’t take the lying any longer!”

Starscream pressed his face as hard as he could into the cushioning. The room was horribly silent. Optimus’ servo brushed the side of his helm, “I, ah, wasn’t lying.”

Starscream stilled his vents.

“Courting is about proving your feelings and devotion,” Optimus sighed, “So, I wasn’t, um, faking.”

“What?” Starscream asked the cushion.

“I’ve always found you captivating,” Optimus said quietly.

Starscream sat up, “What?”

Optimus was _blushing_ , “I— You—”

Starscream held a servo up. Optimus fell silent. Starscream took a moment to order his processor, “You’ve been— You were actually, really courting me.”

“Um,” Optimus fixed his optics somewhere over Starscream’s left shoulder, “Yes.”

Starscream invented, “I’ve been driving myself absolutely up the wall over enjoying how much you touch me, and you’ve been enjoying it just as much.”

“If not more,” Optimus’ blush darkened.

Starscream nodded, “Right. Excellent. Perfect. Wonderful.”

“Is it?” Optimus finally brought his optics to meet Starscream’s.

“Yes,” Starscream nodded, and kissed him.

\- - -

“I spike,” Starscream managed to gasp as Optimus finally left his mouth free to nip at his neck cabling.

“I know,” Optimus rumbled, dropping Starscream to the berth, before freezing, on his knees with his face still buried in Starscream’s neck.

“I’m sorry,” Starscream thought he managed a pretty good impression of a level response, “You _know_?”

“Um,” Optimus’ was flushed enough that Starscream could feel the heat against his cabling, “Blame Jazz?”

“It disturbs me that I’m not surprised that Jazz was gathering _berth preference_ information, even mid-war,” Starscream mused, pushing Optimus back so he could see him, “But why would he share?”

“It’s possible,” Optimus was once again looking anywhere but Starscream, “That he knew I had...an infatuation...so to speak.”

Starscream leaned back on the berth, stretching his frame out. That brought Optimus’ optics back, “That’s a long time, Prime.”

Starscream transformed his panel away, spike pressurizing into the air. Optimus was still frozen in place. Starscream flared his wings up, rebalancing on one arm and bringing his other servo around to stroke his spike, “Ah. Flattering some might—mm—say.”

Optimus fell on his spike like a mech starved. Starscream barely had time to rip his servo away before Optimus’ mouth was on him, “Primus.”

Starscream let his helm drop back and offlined his optics. Optimus’ mouth was wet and warm, moving around him almost shyly. Starscream stroked the back of his helm, “Optimus.”

Optimus responded with a strong suck. Starscream gasped, falling completely back flat on the berth, “ _Optimus_.”

He tried to hold out. He really did. But he hadn’t interfaced since before his last reformat, for one, and for another, Optimus, Optimus _Prime_ , clearly wanted something from him. Who was he to deny?

Starscream overloaded, air catching in his vents as his frame shuddered through each wave of sheer pleasure racing through his circuits. He recovered in enough time to see Optimus swallowing neatly, optics burning into Starscream’s.

“On the berth,” Starscream croaked, and oh, he might have been yelling during that, “I’m going to eat you out until you cry.”

Optimus shivered and complied.

\- - -

“Do you have to go back?” Starscream whined into Optimus’ chest plates.

“I’m afraid so,” Optimus tipped him back and gave him a sound kiss. Starscream hummed happily, “I’ll find an excuse to come back as soon as I can.”

“See that you do,” Starscream tried for imperious, but based on the expression Optimus aimed at him, he’d missed the mark, “Else I suppose I’ll have to elope with Wheeljack.”

“Perish the thought,” Optimus chuckled, optics shining brightly with warmth, “I suppose I’ll have to go find my own former Decepticon leader to settle down with. I know Soundwave’s around Earth somewhere—”

Starscream’s engines revved before he could stop them. Optimus didn’t react.

“Or I suppose I’ll just have to waste away to nothing,” Optimus kissed him again, “Pining for my One True Starscream.”

“I do like the title,” Starscream murmured, leaning in for another kiss, “Has a good ring to it.”

“Mm, doesn’t it?” Optimus trailed a servo down his wing, then sighed, “Unfortunately, I do have to go now.”

“Unfortunately,” Starscream agreed, kissing him one last time and stepping back.

“I’ll comm when I’ve landed,” Optimus promised, and boarded the shuttle. Starscream watched it clear the artificial atmosphere of the dock before turning away. He did, after all, have work to do.

\- - -

“Hey! I’m talkin’ ta you,” Rattrap flicked Starscream’s helm. Starscream startled, plating flaring out and weaponry cycling online, “Sheesh. Entirely off in la la land. Dunno why I even bother.”

“Probably because I pay you,” Starscream answered mildly, trying to brush past his automatic reaction, “What were you saying?”

“Ya listenin’ this time around?” Rattrap narrowed his optics, “If I hafta repeat myself a third time I’m skedaddlin’.”

“All audials,” Starscream confirmed. He certainly wasn’t paging through his memory files, marking each one with Optimus for later playback. He was a consummate professional.

Rattrap kept his suspicious look, “Uh huh. I was _sayin’_ that word on the street is more favorable. Mechs liked the infrastructure plan. They also liked tha look of you on Prime’s arm.”

“Ah,” Starscream flushed, he could feel it, “Good. Mission accomplished.”

“Mhm,” Rattrap opticked him in silence.

“What,” Starscream shuffled a few datapads on his desk.

“My favor worked, didn’ it?” Rattrap suspicion was quickly morphing into glee.

“No comment,” Starscream said, but did flash him a quick smile, “But, it was a pleasant enough visit.”

“I wanna raise,” Rattrap threw his arms up and backed towards the door, “A helluva good one. And a vacation.”

“Get out of my office,” Starscream couldn’t stop smiling, “I never want to see you again.”

Rattrap paused in the doorway, “Hey boss?”

“Hm?” Starscream pulled up a blank datapad to scribble notes on.

“I’m happy for ya,” Rattrap had vanished by the time Starscream looked up again.

Happy did seem pretty good.

**Author's Note:**

> there's something endlessly telling about getting a fantastic starop prompt and falling head over heels for writing the little rat man tbh
> 
> come yell at me about robots on twitter [@floralpunkcfb](https://twitter.com/floralpunkcfb)


End file.
